


An Unremarkable Exchange Over A Plate Of Sandwiches

by ever_neutral



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_neutral/pseuds/ever_neutral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am," she says, and she's sure it sounds convincing. She works in advertising. She would know.</p><p>[set after S2]</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unremarkable Exchange Over A Plate Of Sandwiches

 

"Are you happy, Peggy?"

 

 

He's slightly drunk. Of course. He'd have to be, to ask a question like this, to look at her with eyes that are soft and probing and gentle. He never used to be gentle, she thinks. But that's not so strange. People change.

 

 

(He just didn't change for her. That's all that it is.)

 

 

(She'll get over it.)

 

 

If she's honest (which she hardly ever is nowadays, but nobody needs to know that), the question catches her off-guard. It's an unpredicted, random error. It's the sharp prick of a needle against her vulnerable, still-thin skin.

 

 

(She's stacked up her defences, but they never seem to hold.)

 

 

(She's so stupid.)

 

 

It's potentially embarrassing. She's unprepared. She's standing docilely by a plate of sandwiches and clutching a bright pink cocktail with one of those little umbrellas; she must look an easy target. She always does, but she's used to that. She couldn't have anticipated him sidling up with a smile just for her, as though they do this all the time, as though they're old friends, as though he can walk afterwards straight back to his wife with a steady gait and a clear conscience, and --

 

 

She thought she was over this.

 

 

(Maybe she'll never be over it.)

 

 

(No. She'll get there eventually.)

 

 

"Why do you ask?"

 

 

He shrugs, loose and slight and unthreatening. (He has no idea.) "I don't know. It just… seemed like the thing to say." It's a halfhearted answer, and he sounds halfhearted too, like someone's come and changed up all the practiced, mechanical responses he learned in the mock exam.

 

 

(Maybe she did that.)

 

 

(She hopes so.)

 

 

But he's still looking at her, his face open and curious and waiting. Waiting, for her. Moments like this don't come around all the time.

 

 

She swallows. Something gets stuck in her throat, but she talks past it. "I am," she says, and she's sure it sounds convincing. She works in advertising. She would know.

 

 

(He won't buy it, she fears. Thinks. Knows, deep in her bones.)

 

 

(Then again, it's not as though he ever knew her that well.)

 

 

His answering gaze is long and unfathomable, and it's roughly the equivalent of being stripped naked under a full-powered stage light, and it's excruciating, and not even Don can do this to her. She has to look away.

 

 

(She never claimed to be brave.)

 

 

(She despises herself sometimes.)

 

 

"Oh Pete, there you are," comes the harsh, bright tones of Trudy Campbell. "I wondered where you'd run off to." A perfectly manicured hand fastens around Pete's forearm, and Peggy is momentarily fixated by the long, smooth, creamy-white fingers. "I'm sorry," Trudy directs at Peggy, in the same delighted tone. "I've completely forgotten your name. What was it?"

 

 

Peggy meets her eyes, warm and deep and perfectly set in an unblemished face.

 

 

She really is beautiful.

 

 

(He couldn't have asked for anyone else.)

 

 

(He did. Once.)

 

 

"Oh, I'm nobody," Peggy says. Says it like she means it, and walks away.

 

 

Because she can do that. She gets to do that now.

 

 

She doesn't have to look back.

 

 

(He might be watching her leave. There might even be regret in his stare.)

 

 

(She supposes she'll add it to the long list of things she didn't, doesn't, won't ever know.) 


End file.
